


Softly watching you

by Saecookie



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: (Obviously), Canon Compliant, Discussion of Regeneration (Doctor Who), F/F, F/M, Hopeful Ending, Introspection, Light Angst, Regeneration, The Doctor Loves Rose Tyler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29271933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saecookie/pseuds/Saecookie
Summary: It’s a tradition by now.The Doctor regenerates, loses some sense of self, and goes back to catch a glimpse of Rose to get on the right path again.
Relationships: Eleventh Doctor & Martha Jones, The Doctor & Amy Pond (Doctor Who), The Doctor & Mickey Smith, The Doctor (Doctor Who)/Rose Tyler
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hell, it's me again because apparently I had some things to let go off ! Thank you again so much [@lastbluetardis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastbluetardis) for your encouragements when I first drafted that and for all your betaing !  
> As usual, the title comes from Woodkid : _[I Love You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u-nFIo4f71g)_.

He still doesn’t quite know who he is.

Doesn’t he?

He’s the Doctor.

Yes. He’s the Doctor.

That certainly is some kind of starting point. The right kind. Not necessarily good. Right, at least.

* * *

He’s been wearing that face for a while.

He’s got Amy around now, and she’s a delight and she’s a bright will o’wisp and she’s his best mate. They run and they laugh and see wonders and defeat evils and she’s so alive.

She’s just so alive.

She’s his best mate.

He loves her.

But running and laughing and loving her isn’t a sense of self.

It’s something, though. That’s for sure. It’s some sort of beginning. He’s always been running and he’s certainly been laughing for a few of his faces. And smiling, don’t forget the smiling! But that’s not offering him any sense of self – besides having a friend.

Thank the universe for having a friend. He very well knows where he would be without one. (That’s exactly the point.) Amy is the best one.

* * *

Amy’s the best, and that’s how she knows that something’s wrong. That, and he’s never not been jittery, and second guessing, and saying white and black in the same sentence, and looking over his shoulder to reassess everything he just did.

That’s how she ultimately tells him, almost offhandedly, “ _God, if I didn’t know you were so old I’d tell you you’re too young to have an existential crisis.”_

In hindsight, if he hadn’t stopped like a deer caught in the headlights, it would probably have been forgotten like all those Amy-aggressive statements.

As it is, she squints, and he knows he’s doomed.

She’s been to enough therapy to know she might get bitten trying to help him, but yes, that’s the look of a friend who won’t back down.

That’s how he finds himself negotiating. And sorely losing.

That’s how, for some unfathomable reason, they both find themselves in front of a nondescript apartment door, knocking. And then waiting, because apparently no one’s home.

* * *

_He shouldn’t have come, this is a terrible idea, why is he even here, how does Amy leaving him alone led to coming here; he shouldn’t have, this is a terrible idea, it’s not that he doesn’t want it’s just that it’s a terrible idea and_ _–_

“Ouch, oh, sorry ma'am, I’ll just–”

Amy’s moving to let someone pass in the corridor. They’ve been crouching and sitting and sprawling in all sorts of manners in the terribly long single hour they’ve been waiting. Amy stops moving altogether with a hand still braced on the wall in what certainly is an uncomfortable position; that’s what makes the Doctor look up.

How she recognizes him, he doesn't know, but he also doesn't care. It's a warm feeling and he doesn't want to pick it apart.

He winces, though, despite the warmth. She’s staring down at him, hands on her hips, glaring like even Amy can’t. Like someone who’s seen enough of his antics, enough of his misery to let anything slide by.

“You’re seriously telling me,” she starts, seething, “that I’ve left you with a cell phone, with the clear instruction to _call me,_ and you chose instead to wait, moping like the child you are, in front of my door? How was getting my address easier than actually _calling me_?”

He’s sheepish, and sorry, and he probably says the right things because in the end she bonks his head and hugs him. 

When they part, Martha holds onto his hands. She looks at him for a few more seconds, appraising this time, assessing. Satisfied or not with what she sees, he couldn’t know, because then she’s turning toward Amy, still holding his hands, dear Martha, and her rapt expression swiftly turns to one of delight.

“Ooooh, is ginger still a thing then? You’re still not ginger so you’re living the life by proxy?”

And, well. Amy doesn’t like Martha at first. They’re both too brash. Maybe Amy is a bit too pouty where Martha is too smiley. Maybe Amy hasn’t yet learnt to share. Maybe Martha is well past petty best-liked fights. Surely he’s reading too much into this and Amy just doesn’t know what to do with herself in what is probably the most alien thing that has happened with him – meeting a friend.

“So. This new face. Can’t say I’m surprised. Mickey told me that it was a thing, but seeing it with my own two eyes is something else altogether.”

Amy clearly is trying to be the cool friend, but she’s also clearly trying to understand what the fuck they’re talking about without actually asking, because she _is_ the cool friend.

Ha, yes. The most he’s explained about regeneration to Amy was when she was seven and it was something along the lines of “ _new mouth”,_ and “ _still_ _cooking”_ and “ _early days”._

So he tells her. 

She _ooh_ s and _aah_ s in all the right places and something seems to make sense to her. Which is probably the case, considering their first meeting. 

Something’s lighter already. The crushing weight of _who am I?_ is still there, but it’s the first time in a very, very long while he’s taken the opportunity to actually explain regeneration without being in a rush, or about to die, or just ignoring the obvious altogether.

“You’re a bit young, though.” Martha’s cocking her head at him, back at her scrutiny. “Are you always this young? I wouldn’t have fallen for your tricks if you had looked like a baby.”

He pretends to be offended and Martha laughs and he’s missed her and she’s not offering any solution, but that’s because he hasn’t asked anything yet.

Maybe he should ask. Just… ask. Easy enough, right?

Right?

“So, what’s with you?”

“Martha! I’m wounded. To think there’s something with me, when I’ve come such a long way–”

“This is central London, Doctor.”

“–to see you!”

“Yes, and even if I can’t know for sure, I think it’s safe to say that it’s been a while for you since the Crucible, longer than for me. And I know you and I know that you’re a tough nut to crack, so even if you love me, there _is_ something with you or I wouldn’t have found your baby face moping in front of my door. So. Out with it.”

This time, it’s Amy who turns appraising, a soft “ooh she’s _good_!” not escaping his notice, and he would be elated if he wasn’t dumbstruck, punched back in himself, because he has to answer, eventually, and what will he tell her, now? How do you convey existentialism versus determinism, how do you convey the almost preternatural sense of loss for someone who’s still very much here, in your shoes? Different shoes, mind.

How do you say _I’m not who I am_ , when time is of the essence but not in the usual way?

Maybe you just say that. 

“I’m not… I don’t know what kind of person I am this time around, Martha Jones. What kind of person am I? You tell me. The running’s still there, new teeth and everything as usual, but that’s about it.”

Maybe you just say that, _more or less_.

Because there’s some vulnerability there. Is he vulnerable this time around? Is it because he hasn’t built his armour up yet? How has he been running around without an armour in place? Isn’t it against the rules?

He doesn’t know, doesn’t know how to explain, doesn’t know what he doesn’t know, really, because it’s still new, even after all this time.

But he still has to explain since one thing Martha knows really well is how to listen, to actively listen, and to know when to wait for it, welcoming the doubts and the qualms. 

So he breathes in, and he tries as best as he can. He tells her. He tells her dying can give a sense of self, because you never die for nothing. When you can regenerate, you die with purpose.

“But this time around… This time around I really don’t like who I became before dying. Some faces I’ve had I will never agree with again, and I can try and do better.”

And that’s the trouble, really. He had liked a good part of his previous life. He was born happy and smiling and he’d seen horrors but he also did good.

“But not ‘til the end. The end was very, very wrong, Martha.”

A beat.

She’s looking intently at him over her glass of wine. Martha is anything but a blind idiot. She knows how to read him pretty well by now, more than he ever gave her credit for. Amy, too, with something different, something less knowing _him_ but knowing _something_ nonetheless.

He doesn’t want to make Amy feel left out, but there’s something to be said about old friends. There’s something to be said about an old friend who’s seen you at the exact same low, except that time it wasn’t just himself he had lost along the way.

He is not gonna think about that now.

It’s still quite a similar situation, isn’t it?

“I’m not going to ask what happened to you, because you’re not going to tell me. But what’s different this time, Doctor? Clearly, something’s gone wrong in this already wrongly-wired head of yours.”

And isn’t she right. He thinks of Adelaïde, he thinks of Donna. He can’t bear thinking about Donna. He thinks of beaches and going to see old friends. He thinks of those leaving him and those he left.

He thinks about dying in the war and coming back without purpose. He thinks about dying in the war and not being anymore. Barely existing. At that time, he didn’t try to forge himself anew, he didn’t try to know who he was. He thinks back on acting without thinking. On going forward. On pushing against every wall.

* * *

At some point in his musing, Mickey is here. Is he still calling him Mickey the Idiot? This mouth never did. He tries the words under his breath. Amy had stood to greet the man and introduce herself; she hears him, and she slaps him behind the head. Apparently she’s allowed to be rude and ginger but he doesn’t get either. At least, last time he ticked one of those boxes. Had he met her before, they would have ticked both boxes.

(He’s horrified to note that for one scary second, he’s glad that Amy and Donna never got to meet. Then he’s horrified because that’s an awful thing to think, considering.)

So he greets Mickey who’s not the idiot anymore, who’s not been the Idiot for a very long time and who’s already starting dinner while he pours himself some wine too. He offers to refill Amy’s glass. She’s currently chatting animatedly with Martha, old times and new times colliding, and he could say that he doesn’t know how to feel about that, but he knows how he feels about that because such things have already happened in the past, and who would he be lying to except himself?

Is that who he is right now? Not ginger, not rude, vulnerable, without an armour and not lying to himself?

He must say, he doesn’t like it.

“Hey mate.” Mickey the not idiot slides next to him. “So. New face. Again.”

He shrugs. He doesn’t think about the fact that Mickey’s now one of the very few who’s seen three of his faces in a row. It didn’t really call for an answer. 

“Yeah, he just doesn’t know what to do with this one except, you know, the usual.” The other side of the table doesn’t seem far enough now that Martha’s throwing a pointed look his way.

“Except being an idiot,” Amy adds.

Apparently he still has enough armour to feign hurt and afront. 

“You,” he says pointing at Martha, “didn’t know your happy primes. You,” he says as he points Amy, “bit psychiatrists. And you!” Now, _there_ ’s some dramatics! “Were literally called Mickey the Idiot. None of you get to call me an idiot.” He sniffs, because he can.

* * *

More wine is drunk. Martha is smiling, leaning against her husband. Said husband seems lost in his drink contemplation. Until he’s not.

“Why don’t you… just go back to see her? Like, you can, right?” And, and–” He raises his hands as if he’s already surrendering. “I don’t mean talking to her or anything! Just see her. You know. Get that dumb smile of yours back, I don’t know okay?”

Mickey’s oddly defensive, but then again he’s always been, around the Doctor. Even after he got more assured, less scared of the unknown; it’s like there’s too much history between the two of them for him to just hit him with it.

“Hear me out: you just go, and see her from afar. You can do that right? It’s not like just sitting by her side without talking has ever not made you smile like a loon.”

Another beat.

And if that isn’t an idea. It’s not like he’s never done it. It’s not like he’s running out of Rose’s life on this earth. Could he? Get a glimpse? Get some of her for this new face, for this new self, for this new head to be reminded to do the right thing?

Because that’s a real starting point, isn’t it? The running, the laughing, and then doing what’s right.

He knows he never manages to hold himself accountable. It needs some well-concealed honesty, but he can admit that much. But he could hold himself accountable on her behalf.

(Not on her memory, never on her memory, she’s alive, she’s so, so alive).


	2. Chapter 2

When he sees her, it’s painful. It’s painful as fuck and it’s the most painful thing he’s ever been through. At least in this body. If you don’t count the apple. That was disgusting. 

When he sees her, her eyes are puffy and red, and he can’t hear a thing she’s saying because he’s waiting outside of the chippy and the place is crowded and he can only hear things when someone gets in or gets out.

Amy isn’t here, of course. She’s not invited.

She’s probably watching him from afar though.

Somehow, he finds that he doesn’t mind. She’s his best friend, right? This body knows her, she knows this face very well. It’s not like he can hide something from her. He could have, if he had managed to draw an armour fast enough around this body and these hearts and this laughter.

Well, he didn’t.

She’s probably making sure he’s okay more than spying on him. She saw how he found every possible excuse to not get out of the TARDIS. Setting the coordinate, making the trip, that wasn’t the hard part. Actually getting out was.

She’s here, pink and yellow and red eyes and his hearts are breaking for her. He wants to cross the space between them, get inside, go to her and engulf her in his arms because he still has long gangly arms that she found perfect for hugging, as perfect as his previous strong arms, and he could console her, and it would console him and he would hug her and not tear up and not sob. He would hold her and tell her that whatever is happening, it will get better, she deserves the world, she’s gonna get the world and even more, she’s gonna get the universe and even another one, and she’s gonna have everything she wants, or so he hopes.

He just wants to hug her. He just wants to see her smile.

And suddenly she’s not sitting with her mum and Mickey, suddenly she’s already slamming the door behind her and going past him and she just brushed past him (they touched! Almost! Barely? Well that was more than he’s ever gonna get again so it does count.) She runs and stops and sits on a bench. She sits and breathes in and rubs at her eyes. She’s like that sometimes. Doesn’t want to impose. Wants to be able to solve her own problems. Go through her own hardships. As if anyone could deny her some help. But it helps her get more centered, it helps her calm down to take inventory of her problems and see them and shape them in boxes and then she can go forward.

She’s so beautiful.

He loved her so much.

He still does, though, doesn’t he?

It’s not like it’s a real question.

He loves her so much.

From afar, now.

So when she gets up and starts running again  – always the running, even when he wasn’t there, his Rose  – he follows her because he can’t get enough, and when he sees the TARDIS…

When he sees the TARDIS he feels like someone has just punched him in the face. Punched him in the guts. Because the TARDIS is here and he’s not. He’s been so stupid. He knows those clothes. He’s never paid them any attention because who cares about clothes when Rose Tyler is here? But the now TARDIS is here too and he’s not and he knows those clothes and now Mickey’s catching up with her and they exchange a shaky smile between her tear-streaked cheeks and apparently he’s got tear-streaked cheeks of his own too, got them at some point and he didn’t pay it any attention because who cares about tears when Rose Tyler is here?

Apparently Amy does, because he’s got her small hand in his and she’s squeezing without a word. For a mouthy rude ginger, she’s being really silent. But he’s not looking at her right now, because Rose Tyler is here and there’s something new in his chest, something that wasn’t there some time ago.

Something was here, some time ago, but now that thing flares to life again; like some forgotten memory, like he’s becoming lucid during a dream.

“ _ You don't just give up. You don't just let things happen. You make a stand. You say "no." You have the guts to do what's right when everyone else just runs away. _ ” That’s what she said just before she got out of the chippy and he wasn’t paying attention because who cares about speeches when Rose Tyler is here; because she had just brushed past him and his brain had frozen because that was her arm, and now he’s thinking about it again, it’s actually  _ registering _ while a big yellow truck is coming down the street.

That’s his TARDIS, and he knows those clothes and he knows exactly what’s happening and where he is at that moment, not him  _ him _ , but past him, strong arms and broad shoulders, already good for hugging, and she took a stand and had the guts to not run away.

Do what’s right.

For him.

Maybe he can do what’s right, for her, even if she’s not here anymore. 

(But so, so alive.)

Maybe he can take a stand when people don’t. Maybe that’s what he’ll think about when he gets into the Pandorica. When he takes the defense of the gangers.

Maybe he can do what’s right when he takes Vincent with him. When he goes to Utah. When he doesn’t rip spacetime again to get the Ponds back. When he calls Clara before he dies again.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s a tradition by now. It’s tricky selecting a place and time where he’s not gonna meet himself, but it’s ok, he figures, he would understand seeing himself. This young baby face of his would maybe be a bit shocked at the age gap between the two of them. But in the end, it wouldn’t matter, because who’s caring about one’s face when Rose Tyler is here?

But he isn’t at the same point this time. No need to break his hearts a second time. A thousandth time.

No, this time he’s still not here. She’s still alone. She’s in a corridor. And he’s behind a screen. In a surveillance room.

This time he doesn’t need to pay attention to clothes or details in their surroundings. There aren’t any details. But he’d know those damned blank corridors even another thousand years from now. The first time he broke after the war. The first time his hope of having done the right thing got shattered.

But he can’t dwell on this.

He can’t dwell on this because she’s here, and she’s talking to a Dalek, and she’s afraid. Of course she is, how could she not be? But she’s still trying, still not giving up, still making things right. Convincing a Dalek to not kill. Trying to change the ways of things. Trying, always trying his Rose, to do what’s right, when he couldn’t.

Do what’s right.

Even when it means standing against him.

She doesn’t brush past him this time. Too many doors and walls and distance. But he doesn’t need that for his brain to freeze, to forget that Clara is behind in the TARDIS’s threshold watching him intently, like she’s never seen him before. He doesn’t need that to be blinded by how strong and caring and radiant she was, so soon after getting the world, so young in the face of old tired aliens.

Maybe he’ll do what’s right then. Maybe he’ll be old, but strong and caring. Maybe he’ll think about her when he gets sent into a Dalek to repair it, and try to show him the good in the world. Maybe that’s Rose he’ll be thinking about when he has to do the right thing and see Davros. Maybe she’s still here with him, asking him what the hell he’s changing into when he’s on the verge of being the worst version of himself. Maybe he’ll try to remember her at the end of this very long life, of this life that’s gotten way too long, that should have ended a few millennia ago. Maybe he’ll think of her, when he remembers that hate is always foolish, and love is always wise.


	4. Chapter 4

This time she’s falling, and she can’t really do anything about it all. She can’t think, she can’t act, she can just fall like a whale or a flower or anything submitted to gravity.

Then she’s running and she’s helping and isn’t that everything that she is?

Still.

The tradition goes back generations.

Apparently, she’s still quoting _The Lion King_. That can be some kind of starting point. Running, helping, quoting _The_ _Lion King_.

Still. The tradition goes back generations.

She finds her in Cardiff, of all places. “Cardiff? Really?” Ryan has every right to not be impressed. From Sheffield to, apparently, not space. “Why are we in Cardiff?”

She could lie, because some say that the Doctor always lies, and say that they’re here to recharge. She  _ is _ gonna recharge the TARDIS really, so it wouldn’t exactly be a lie. But she could also just not lie.

“A friend told me to.” She doesn’t lie, but that’s still not exactly the truth. “Back in the day, you know?” She’s smiling. She hopes this face can do that. Can she smile?

“Can I smile?”

They all exchange perplexed looks, but she’s already turning around and out the door.

They’re in Cardiff and they’re walking toward a restaurant and she remembers. She remembers this feeling pretty well and it’s warm and fuzzy and she smiles despite herself, and yeah, this face can definitely smile. There they are, one happy team TARDIS. She’s thinking  _ family,  _ but she called Ryan and Grace and Graham and Yaz  _ fam _ already and she doesn’t want anyone to be left out. She never wants anyone to be left out. Yet she… Well. Better not to dwell on the past, right ?

The laughter and the banter and the flirting and the joy was really one happy family.

Right. Definitely better not to dwell on the past.

Who could dwell on the past when there’s Rose Tyler in front of her, on the other side of the square, sliding her hand into Jack’s, leaning her head against his shoulder. Mickey’s on her left side and he’s, strong arm and broad shoulders again, shoulder to shoulder with Jack. They’re all bantering and laughing and she can’t hear them ( _ us _ ) from where she’s standing but she  _ remembers _ .

She remembers the happiness and the openness and the sharing and being silly and the absence of stakes. She remembers the freedom of loving and being loved.

She remembers feeling right.

Maybe that’s what she’ll think about every time she’ll call them  _ fam _ , when she’ll insist in Punjab. Maybe that’s what she’ll feel when she hears “ _ Captain Jack says hello _ ” and when she says “ _ that’s Jack _ ”, and when she spends a lifetime away in jail, not losing her mind, because she knows what it is to love and be loved and showing up for your loved ones. Maybe that’s why it’ll hurt so much when Graham and Ryan step back, because hurting goes with the loving, and she’d rather love and hurt than lose this feeling. It hurts and she’s alive.

Maybe she’ll feel again, maybe she’ll feel more. Maybe she’ll keep going on, knowing she’s the Doctor, because that’s who she is first and foremost, running, laughing, helping, loving.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s just something that flickers back to life in them, somewhere in their chest, maybe a bit under their sternum. Something like an ember or another shit metaphor like that. Something that’s always there, printed in fire, that’s just waiting to be rekindled.

It’s something that grounds them.

They don’t know exactly who they’re gonna be this time around, but they certainly have a starting point. A better idea. A goal. A horizon. Something to thrive to achieve. 

They’re the Doctor.

And they don’t give up. They do what’s right. They make a stand. They see the beauty, and they love.

Or something of the like of it.

(She’ll always be alive for them. She always was. Bright, and alive.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you liked it !


End file.
